Playing the Game
by iLoveSexyBritishMen
Summary: Sherlock's been taken and John has to Play the Game... Hints of Johnlock, not really...


A/N: So I don't own it... I wrote this after HoB, Then added quotes from The Fall after... Please review... You can take a flame thrower to it if you want, but do review... Thanks!

* * *

If you had asked John Watson of 221b Baker Street how he felt about pulling rank a week ago, he might have said it was an abuse of power or something along those lines. This week however, John Watson- sorry, Capt. John Watson- was pulling rank right and left trying to solve a case. Not just any case, mind, THE Case. This case was the most important case John had ever worked.

* * *

His mobile rang. Caller ID read "DI LASTRADE"

'Greg? Is Sherlock not answering his phone?'

'That's what I'm calling about. John, Sherlock's been kidapped'

'What? Are you sure? He's run off before. Remember when he went to Romania for goat's eyes?'

'We're sure. We need you to come to the scene… We think there's a message for you'

'I'll be right there' John was already halfway out the door. He was there in ten minutes.

'Where?'

'John, you need to calm down… This is personal…'

'Lastrade, I am a soldier. I am very calm. When one of my men is down, I am going to save him. Now show me this message' Detective Inspector Lastrade nodded and led the way.

'We haven't touched anything…' John pulled ahead to the graffiti on the wall. Morse code. John quickly decoded it.

'It's Moriarty…' The DI groaned at his confirmation '… We have to play his game. We win, we get Sherlock'

'Alive?'

'Doesn't say'

'Okay, then. Let's get started'

'I'll talk to Mycroft. Maybe he can help'

* * *

'Hello, "Anthea"'

'Hello?'

'I need to speak to Mycroft'

'And you are?'

John gritted his teeth 'John Watson. I need to speak to Mycroft'

'Mr. Holmes is busy'

'Tell him, and use these exact words, tell him that his brother has been kidnapped and we could very well use all the bloody help we could get' John said it with such force that the girl stared at him in shock. She tapped the message out on her phone and sent it. Not a minute later, Mycroft exited his office, umbrella in hand. He seemed confused to see John standing there.

'John! I was expecting Gre- DI Lastrade' John had known about the DI's affair with the elder Holmes brother for a few months now, when Sherlock had pointed it out, of course.

'He's at the scene… keeping the media out… doing his job…'

'Yes, we don't want this getting out'

'No, sir' They were now in the back of Mycroft's car.

'Do we know who?'

'Moriarty' at the mention of the name, Mycroft froze 'That's the one'

'Are we sure?'

'He left a note…'

'Oh…'

'We have to play his game'

'Tell me about it' The rest of the way to the crime scene, John filled Mycroft in. John couldn't help but think that Sherlock probably would've figured it out by now.

_Why did Moriarty have to come back now? It's been almost a full year since we last saw him. Where had he been all this time?_

* * *

'We need to be thinking one step ahead. We almost lost the last one. We're trying to get Sherlock back, we need to think like him'

'John, this isn't just about Sherlock. It's also about all of the innocent people Moriarty is using to play the game'

'Greg, Sherlock is the final… level, so to speak… We save all the people between now and then, we get Sherlock. Now the last girl said something about the Hounds of Hell…'

Mycroft leaned over and mumbled something in Lastrade's ear. Whatever it was made the Detective get up and leave the room in a huff. John noticed Mycroft leave exactly 3 minutes later.

'Okay, I'm going to turn this over to Dimmock to fill you in on pressure triggers…' John followed Mycroft out the door and around the corner. He ducked in to an alcove when Mycroft caught up to Lastrade.

'Mycroft, how could you do this? You had him locked up!' They argued in hushed voices.

'Greg, I had no legal evidence! I had to let him go!'

'You could've said he was a danger to society! That he's crazy! I saw the cell! The man was obsessed!'

'I know! I hate myself for doing it, but it was illegal for me to keep him!'

'It's illegal for you to fill a plane with dead bodies! Since when do you care about illegal?' Mycroft didn't answer. John took this opportunity to reveal himself.

'So, your saying that you had Moriarty locked up somewhere and you just let him go?'

'John! Have you been standing there the entire time?'

'Your brother, Mycroft, has been kidnapped because of you!'

'John, if I had known-'

'Doesn't matter! He still killed a bunch of people! Your brother might be next if we don't figure this out! Now, get your sorry arse back in there and start working! Both of you!' John commanded so much respect in those few sentences that even Mycroft Holmes, THE British Government, bowed his head and muttered 'Yes, sir' before shuffling into the room.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'Yes… Captain' John took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, sighing.

'Where are you, Sherlock?'

* * *

John went home that night and upon opening the door, he noticed something. Something was different.

'Mrs. Hudson!'

No answer. Who was he kidding? Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister all week. John cautiously stepped into the flat, careful not to disturb anything.

_Come on, John! Observe!_ Sherlock's voice called in his head. A slow grin crept across his face. John picked up the file that was out of place and ran back to Scotland Yard.

* * *

'Eureka!' John shouted.

'John, what is it?' Lastrade was worried at the manic grin on John's face.

'I have found it!'

'Yes, but what have you found?'

'Someone was in our flat! Someone broke into 221b Baker Street!'

'Oh, my god! Is Mrs. Hudson okay? Did they take anything?'

'That's just it! Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister! Someone knew the flat would be empty and left this!' John held up the file. 'I wouldn't have even noticed if it wasn't for Sherlock! He keeps files in a very specific disarray, but this one was parallel to the edge of the desk. Whoever left it knew I would see it. And it's going to help us find Sherlock!'

'How do you know?'

'I read it in the taxi. It's a cold case from 1927. A missing man, some forged visas. That's all they had. A few months ago, Sherlock read this case and solved it. See the handwriting?' They did 'The man never existed! Someone sent a forged visa to America for no one!'

'Okay, so, you're saying this Jack Harkness fellow never existed?'

'Exactly! No hospital records. No birth report. Nothing! The first victim, Jack Schmidt. The second, Cornilea Harkness. The third works in the visa office. Sherlock's the last piece of the puzzle. Now "Jack Harkness" fell off the map in New York. I think that's where Sherlock will be'

'John, we can't be sure'

'It's the best we have to go on… Who knows, once I leave, you might be contacted again! I have a very strong feeling about this!'

'Okay, John will go to America. Donovan, watch Baker Street. I'll speak to the victims.'

John Watson and Sally Donovan ran to 221b Baker Street. Donovan set up surveillance while John packed.

John was on a plane in a matter of hours, special visa and passport in hand. Honestly, John loved flying. That's not what made him nervous. He had no idea what to expect. John had no idea what he was getting into.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, a man a few rows up collapsed on the way back from the lavatory.

'Is there a doctor on board?' A cute stewardess asked.

John stood up and began walking towards the man.

'Doctor John Watson. Don't touch him!' John said firmly. The army doctor rifled through the man's pockets until he found a wallet. The contents identified the man as American. No medical problems. His name was…

'No… that's not possible!' John whispered.

'Doctor Watson?' The flight attendant asked.

'This is a fake ID. This man is not Sherlock Holmes'

'Sir? Is that important? What's wrong with him?'

'He's dead. Poisoned. Taken willingly. Possibly in the lavatory or someone put it in his drink. I favor the latter. His stomach started to get upset. He went to the loo expecting to vomit, didn't, felt woozy and tried to return to his seat. Someone planted this wallet on him knowing I would find it. Brand new, filled exactly like Sherlock's. Moriarty's sending me a message. Now the only people who could've poisoned the drink were his seat mates and the flight atte-' John looked at the silently sobbing flight attendant, the only one in this section. 'Shite…' He mumbled under his breath. Some men on board had moved the body to the front of the plane.

'I'm sorry! He has my sister! My only sister! I'm so, so sorry!' She sobbed. John hugged her.

'What's your name?'

'Mary Morstan'

'Mary, it's okay. He's manipulated so many people. Hell, He's manipulated me!'

'Who did he take?'

'My flatmate, my best friend. His archenemy.'

'People don't have archenemies'

'That's what I said' John laughed 'At least it's not his brother anymore'

That got a laugh out of her. John returned to his seat. For the rest of the flight, John thought about Sherlock. What it would be like o see him again. How it would feel to know he was safe. If he wasn't safe, there would be hell to pay. _Where is this coming from? He's my friend… Who am I kidding? He's more than that… I shot a man for him the first night we met!_

He was questioned about the man's death when he got off the plane. It wasn't too much. He was about to go out and get a taxi when he spotted Anthea, tapping out messages on her Blackberry, with a driver and a sign that said 'Watson'.

John rolled his eyes and walked over to her. A few feet away she started walking, John followed. They got into a car.

'Can you at least tell me where I'm going this time?'

'Mr. Holmes has been contacted. Given an address, nothing more. He found out you were in the country and sent me to send you'

'The address, maybe?'

She gave it. 'It's an old warehouse belonging to a Richard Brook'

'That's the same address that was on the ID of the man on the plane. Moriarty must have wanted to make sure I got there'

Anthea nodded. It took ages to get there. When they finally arrived, John jumped out of the moving car. There was graffiti on the door… It said 'Come alone'

'Good bye, Anthea'

'Good bye, John' They drove off.

John walked slowly into the warehouse. It was cold and dim. The only light came from the holes in the roof. John saw a figure at the end of the room. His back was turned, but John knew those dark curls anywhere.

'Sherlock' he breathed, then shouted 'SHERLOCK!'

Sherlock turned around, seeing the shorter man, a smile crept across his face. He began to run. Faster than he had when chasing a cab, faster than he had ever run before. John began running, too, hoping to get to Sherlock first. Something over John's shoulder caught Sherlock's eye. It caused him to slow and stop. They were still 100 yards from each other. There was a shot. It echoed through the empty building. That was when John stopped running. He saw the blood. _No! Not when I'm this close! No!_ John stumbled the rest of the way to the fallen body of Sherlock Holmes.

Fumbling to find a pulse, John said 'Sherlock? Can you hear me, Sherlock? Oh, God, Sherlock, please! Don't do this to me!' He looked around, but the shooter was gone. 'Please, Sherlock! Come back to me…' But, no, Sherlock was dead… and there was nothing the army doctor could do.

That's how the police found him, holding the body of Sherlock Holmes, crying. It took three officers to separate the two, even when they were apart, John never took his eyes off the body.

* * *

He was sitting in an interview room. The detective across from him kept asking the same two questions: Who? And Why? John told him who. It was Moriarty, plain and simple. He may not have pulled the trigger, but it was his fault.

'Detective, this man kidnapped my best friend, made me solve crimes in order to find him here in America, then shot him dead in front of me. I don't know why Moriarty killed him. I don't really care. I want to know why he got my hopes up. I played his game, I followed his rules. He told me I would get Sherlock back if I did. Now, Sher-… My best friend, Sherlock Holmes is dead. Please, explain that to me'

* * *

It was at the grave that it happened. There wasn't a funeral or a memorial, Sherlock wouldn't have wanted that. But, standing alone at the grave, it all came out:

'Sherlock, you… You Bastard! You left me! What am I supposed to do without you? You changed me! You can't just change me and then leave! God, Sherlock! Lastrade won't give me a case without you. I went back to my bloody therapist over you!' He turned to leave 'I love you. You hear that, Sherlock Holmes! I present tense love you! And you left me! How could I get over that? The brilliant, fantastic Sherlock Holmes is dead and I'm supposed to move on. Please, Sherlock, tell me how to get over you. Please. I need to know. Why did you have to die? We were so close. The world is a sadder place without you… My world is a sadder place without you… You're important. I'm just a washed up old solider. So, why are you dead and not me?'

With that final question, John turned and left.


End file.
